CHICAGO 


A    SATIRE 

By  THOMAS  R  JOHNSOR 


PRICE. 


15    CENTS 


R«prlDt«d    from    THB    INLANDER.    Ana    Arb«r 
1901 


Garrett  Biblic      G*^' 
Evanstc 


IN  THE    OLD  DAYS,    WHEN   BABYLON  GREW  PROUK, 
AND  NOISOME  ORGY  IN  HER  HALLS  WAS  LOUD."       P.   I3. 


CHICAGO 


A  SATIRE 


By    THOMAS    P.    JOHNSON 


y 


Avon  and  Ayr  flow  peerless  in  renown. 

Writ  in  the  sacred  books  of  deathless  song. 

And  yet  a  wider  fame  might  well  belong 

To  blue  Detroit  or  Mississippi  brown 

Or  many-hued  Niagara,  phiriging  down 

With  roar  and  rainbow,  or  those  strange  waves  that  mour 

With  upward-flowing  currents  to  their  fount, 

In  loud  Chicago,  where  the  smoke-banks  frown. 

Give  us  a  poet,  and  his  heart  will  find. 
Here  in  the  roar  of  this  gigantic  life, 
Shut  from  the  eye  that  gazes  and  is  blind. 
Pathos  and  laughter,  fellowship  and  strife. 
Songs  sweet  as  Burns'  and  tragedies  as  large 
As  Shakspere  mused  by  Avon's  lucent  maize. 


REPRINTED  FROM  THE  INLANDER, 

ANN  ARBOR,  MICH., 

I901. 


COPYRIGHTED    I90I      PA'    G.     A.     OHLINGEI 
(all    RIGHTS    RESERVED.) 


Garrett  Biblical 

^"--    Evanston,  Illinois 


Ca  :Ur'7 


-,  r> 


The   Inland   Press, 


CJjicago:  a  g»atut 


BY  THOMAS    P.    JOHNSON. 


""I  grieve  that  thou  wilt  leave  the  city,  Jack, 
Yet  as  I  love  thee  would  not  lure  thee  back." 
So  spoke  I,  at  the  station,  yesterday, 
To  my  old  friend,  in  that  familiar  way 
Which  old  tried  friends  sometimes  adopt  in  jest, 
Sometimes  to  hint  afifection  not  expressed. 
''You  seek  seclusion  and  the  social  ease 
Of  rural  rest,  remote  from  scenes  like  these. 
I  blame  you  not.     I  hate  this  slimy  place. 
A  city  is  a  wart  on  Nature's  face. 
Better  eternal  sleep  and  solitude 
And  overalls,  with  plain  brown  bread  for  food, 
Than  this  discordant  roar,  this  murky  glare, 
This  dirty  linen,  this  pestiferous  air, 
The  highwaymen,  the  odors  of  the.  street, 
And  the  fierce  headlines  of  the  yellow  sheet." 
"I  go,"  said  Jack,  "because  a  man  I  deemed. 
With  all  the  world,  to  be  that  which  he  seemed, 
A  man  of  honor,  proves  to  be  a  knave. 
These  goods  are  all  that  I've  contrived  to  save. 
(He  pointed  to  three  boxes  scornfully. ) 
One  day  my  uncle,  joking,  said  to  me : 
'When  stocks  is  watered,  somebody  gits  soaked.' 
Would  I  had  deemed  him  serious  as  he  joked !" 

Then  into  Jack's  great  eyes  there  came  a  gleam 
That  was  half  wrath  and  half  a  genial  dream 
Of  cows  knee-deep  in  clover  and  the  sigh 
Of  rustling  woods  athwart  an  August  sky  ; 
And,  while  dun  smoke-wreaths  made  the  train  shed  dim, 
And  the  grim  girders  grew  more  black  and  grim. 
And  enghies  panted  like  impatient  steeds, — 
With  that  dear  wrath  \\'hich  wise  experience  breeds. 
He  belched  a  satire,  as  a  twelve-inch  gun 
Belches,  with  red  and  white  and  blue,  its  ton 


LH  iron  (Icalh  I'.ial  llirs.  and  slrikcs,  and  leaps 
Into  ten  theusanil  fragments,  and  npheaps 
More  than  the  men  who  struggle  and  who  slay 
In  wonder  and  confusion  and  dismay. 

First,  with  tine  rage  he  plied  his  wordy  lash 
On  hiiu  who  had  divcireed  him  from  his  eash  : 

"J  do  not  love  yt)U.  James,  I  nutst  confess. 
You  liave  my  money ;  1  have  no  redress. 
If  Rohert  Ingersoll  should  ever  feel 
Your  genial  touch  in  some  financial  deal, 
That  sweet  and  dear  experience  would  compel 
Even  him  to  admit  the  utility  of  hell. 
The  wily  papers,  when  you  pay  them  dear, 
Call  you  promoter,  deacon,  financier ; 
But  we  who  know  you,  knowing  to  our  grief, 
Know  that  you're  nothing  but  a  clever  thief. 
One  thousand  dollars !     How  I  toiled  to  hold 
That  meagre  hoard  of  toil-extorted  gold. 
]\Iy  first  one  thousand  dollars !     Twenty  years 
I  wrought  in  rain  and  sunshine,  mirth  and  tears. 
Before  I  had  laid  by  that  slender  store. 
I  trusted  you,  because,  forsooth,  you  bore 
An  honored  name.     You  taught  me,  in  a  school 
Of  merciless  rigor,  how  at  least  one  fool 
And  one  knave  more  than  I  had  known  liefore 
Were  still  at  large  this  side  the  Stygian  shore. 
I  said  one  fool.     Xay,  deacon,  there  were  two. 
I  was  a  poor  one,  but  a  poorer  you ! 
You  sold  your  honor,  your  good  name  you  sold, 
All  for  a  few  bright  pieces  of  thin  gold. 
You're  hard  upon  yourself ;  your  dearest  foe 
Had  never  dreamed  of  rating  you  so  low. 
You've  fleeced  the  widow  and  the  widow's  child ; 
The  toiling  artisan  you  have  beguiled 
Of  savings  hoarded  through  years  manifold : 
I  wonder  if  you  shiver  when  they're  cold. 
James,  do  you  sleep  at  night?     Can  you  frequent 
Without  loud  bursts  of  tuneless  merriment 
Or  flaming  cheek  the  holy  house  of  prayer? 
Awful !     O  James,  your  sanctimonious  stare ! 
Dare  you  with  serious  front  pretend  to  teach 
Your  sons  to  live  with  no  offensive  breach 
Of  human  rights  or  ordinance  of  Cod, 
Treading  the  paths  that  true  men  aye  have  trod  ? 
Your  sense  of  humour  is  as  obsolete 
As  the  lean  cur's  that  yelps  along  the  street, 
A  tin  can  tied  to  his  reluctant  tail 
And  twenty  urchins  hot  upon  his  trail. 
Or  else  your  talents  for  the  stage  surpass 


Nat  Goodwin's  bluffing  and  Dick  Mansfield's  brass. 

And  yet  I  would  not  change  my  lot  for  yours. 

My  loss  is  brief ;  your  infamy  endures ; 

T  am  more  rich  than  you  with  all  your  gold ; 

I  have  what  you  have  in  your  folly  sold, — 

A  heart  untainted  and  a  soul  imflecked, 

Peace,  honor,  pride,  and  stainless  self-respect. 

"Farewell,  Chicago  !     Ruin  fall  on  you  ! 
I. hate,  despise,  and  loathe  you  through  and  through. 
I  hate  the  tricks  of  this  intemperate  clime, 
The  dust  in  summer  and  in  spring  the  slime ; 
Nature  is  here  on  one  perpetual  spree ; 
She  shifts  from  hot  to  cold  with  devilish  glee ; 
From  flare  to  frost  so  quick  the  vile  jade  turns, 
Your  left  hand  freezes  while  your  right  hand  l)urns. 
Sometimes  you  stroll  forth.  May  in  all  your  veins ; 
You  turn  a  corner  and  December  reigns. 


Piled  cloud-banks,  too,  continually  frown 

Nature's  contempt  on  this  be-smutted  town  ; 

Even  when  she  smiles,  the  smoke-banks  hide  her  face, 

And  no  good  comes  from  her  infrequent  grace. 

If  dread  of  rain  your  hope  of  baseball  blight, 

Look  at  the  lake.     Behold !  the  sun  is  bright, 

/\nd  happy  diamonds  on  the  waves  proclaim 

The  gods'  displeasure  and  the  city's  shame. 

By  one  thing  only  is  this  smoke-curse  thinned, 

A  right  Chicago  gale  of  howling  wind. 

When  this  Aeolian  daimon  holds  his  sway. 

He  sweeps  hat,  happiness,  and  lungs  away, 

Blinds  eyes,  packs  ears,  disturbs  the  living  wire, 

Sends  sacrilegious  shivers  up  the  spire, 

O'erthrows  the  cyclist,  beats  the  chimney  down, 

Tears  the  umbrella,  dallies  with  the  gown, 

And  fills  the  air  with  ancient  filth,  brick-bats, 

Dread  thoughts  of  perished  and  decadent  cats. 

And  evil  visions  of  the  knives  that  gleam. 

The  hecatombs  that  bleed,  the  vats  that  steam, 

The  belching  chimneys,  and  the  reeking  mould. 

In  that  great  temple  of  the  god  of  gold. 

Which  spreads  Chicago's  fame  across  the  seas 

From  Viti  Levu  to  the  Orcades. 

(Thence  rises  heavenward  a  fume  more  vast 


—  6  — 

Ami  more  mitritinus  than  all  tlic«so  which  passed 

In  the  old  days  from  C  nwian  allar  rik's 

Tu  huni;ry  gods  upon  Dlynipian  hcighls. 

W  hen  starved  Chicagoans  in  the  morning  wake, 

A  gust  of  this  serves  them  in  lieu  of  steak.) 

'A\'hen  hrst,  a  hoy,  1  viewed  these  dark  retreats, 
These  half-huilt  houses  and  these  half-paved  streets, 
They  gave  my  being  an  unpleasant  jar, 
Like  the  first 'cockta^il  or  the  first  cigar. 
The  hideous  squares  of  shameless  wootl  and  hnck 
Made  me  with  a  mysterious  terror  sick  ; 
1  seized  my  nose,  for  fear  lest  fell  disease 
From  the  thick  air  upon  my  spirit  seize. 
But  when  one  comes  amid  these  scenes  to  dwell, 
At  first  he  tolerates,  then  loves  them  well. 
Foul  though  she  be,  this  Circe  tames  his  heart. 
By  some  rude  charm  or  some  seductive  art. 
Chicago,  he  discovers,  is  like  Vice; 
He  needs  must  love  her  wdio  accosts  her  thrice. 
Pope's  musty  line  exactly  hits  her  case : 
AVe  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace.' 

"In  early  days,  upon  a  swamp  undrained 
The  citv  stood  and  furious  agues  reigned 
Today  the  fell  plague's  course  is  not  yet  run, 
But  now  the  ague  is  a  moral  one. 
The  people  shake  with  what  they  think  is  mirth 
At  vice  triumphant  over  fallen  worth. 
All  crimes  are  winked  at.     Slander,  steal,  and  lie, 
For  you  may  do  so  with  impunity ; 
The  law  wall  touch  you  not,  unless,  at  night. 
You  chance  to  ride  your  wheel  wdthout  a  light. 
There  is  a  frame  of  law  to  hold  in  check 
The  lawdess  men  whose  passions  rage  and  wreck" ; 
There  is  a  Civic  Something  to  o'erawe 
The  lawdess  men  wdio  guide  this  frame  of  law ; 
The  watchers  watch  the  watchers  at  their  task, 
But  wdio  can  watch  the  watchers,  let  me  ask? 
The  people  laugh  the  marriage- vow  to  scorn. 
At  night  two  meet ;  they  wed  the  following  morn  ; 
And  on  the  third  day  shake  the  dice  to  see 
Which  one  shall  start  the  suit  that  sets  them  free. 
So  runs  the  rude  jest,  but  the  facts  attest 
A  tragic  levity  too  sad  for  jest. 
Of  every  four  for  wdiom  the  knot  is  tied 
One,  by  the  book,  commits  Hymenicide. 

"For  dwellers  in  this  desert  vast  and  drear 
There  is  no  use  for  such  a  w^ord  as  'near.' 
Howe'er  vour  bosom  swell  with  worthy  pride 


■you   RE  KORCEl)  KACIi    DAY  ON  CLOSE-l'ACK  U  CARS   I'O  RIDE. 


^'(U^^^.■  I'diwd  racli  (l;i\   mi  cl(>S(.'-|);u-l\'(l  cars  tti  ride, 

Wliorcon.  for  wcarx   miK's,  you  jork  and  jL^rind. 

llani^itis;-  to  strajis,  S(HKr/cd,  trampled.  unrcsi<;ncd. 

Soniotiinos  llu'  odors  niako  \  on  lonj;-  lo  die; 

Sometimes  a  manhole  Mows  \(ni  at  the  sky. 

IVM-Jiaps  you  sit  beside  the  motor  man 

To  g-et  a  whifl."  of  fresh  air.  if  yon  can. 

r.rief  vour  escape  from  grief.     He  chews  the  weed. 

And.  as  you  dash  along-  at  cheerful  speed, 

At  the  onrushing  air,  guileless  and  gay, 

lielches  defiantly  a  showery  spray. 

Ilack  in  your  face  the  air,  insulted,  flings 

The  tlock  of  brown  expectorated  things. 

Withal  the  pace  is  like  a  snail's.      I'ecause 

Cowed  politicians  dare  not  mend  the  laws. 

The  track  is  blocked  by  teamsters,  who  refuse 

With  insolent  speech  to  clear  it  till  they  choose. 

Thence  volleyed  oaths,  in  many-languag'd  tlight. 

Ama;'.e  the  simple  and  the  bad  delight. 

"Sometimes  fierce  storms  of  sand  and  dust  prevail, 
Sometimes  the  cars  through  little  oceans  sail. 
Sometimes  small  children  in  these  poois  are  drowned  ; 
Choked  by-  the  dust,  dead,  sometimes,  they  are  found. 
But  with  this  drouth  the  people  boldly  fight, 
And  now,  look  where  you  may,  drink  is  in  sight. 
Here  swing  th.e  golden  words  :     Znr  Stadt  Bicrstcin  ; 
There  Toney  Sulevano  hangs  his  sign ; 
And  yonder,  with  a  genial  dago  leer, 
Pat  Maladetta  sells  Milwaukee  beer. 

"Ah  me !     The  soiled  humanity  one  meets, 
With,  heavy  heart,  upon  these  sordid  streets ! 
The  child  weak  from  his  fathers'  sins ;  the  hag 
W^ith  painted  face  and  weary  feet  that  lag ; 
The  sot  whose  soul,  filled  full  of  shame  and  fright, 
From  his  soaked  body  took  long  since  its  flight ; 
The  starved  attorney,  like  a  carrion  crow, 
Eager  to  batten  on  his  fellow's  woe ; 
The  parson  frothing  at  a  look  or  w^ord 
That  hints  the  tale  of  Jonah  is  absurd. 
Knaves  are  but  knaves,  however  they  masquerade ; 
A  fool  is  still  a  fool,  whate'er  his  trade. 

"When  forced  by  want  or  righteous  wrath  to  roan- 
The  wretch  of  every  land  here  finds  a  home. 
When  Susette  grows  distasteful  to  Monsieur 
She  seeks  subsistence  and  has  welcome  here. 
Here  India's  doting  faith  secures  a  place ; 
Egyptian  dancers  writhe  with  venomous  grace  ; 
And  German  sausage-makers,  round  as  hogs, 


THKKE  TONEY  SULLIVANO  HANGS   HIS  SIGN. 


—  lo- 
in more  than  one  sense  treat  their  wives  like  (logs. 
The  aetor.  eiis:ocl  fnmi  l-ondon  and  Taris. 
Here  fills  Iiis  imekets  with  exulienuU  glee. 
The  staji^e  is  ruined,      hanie  is  bonght  and  sold. 
If  talents  win  praise,  they're  o imposed  ot  gold. 
The  age,  degenerate,  ln\es  true  art  no  more; 
Shakespeare  and  Sheridan  are  deemed  a  bore. 
All  that  the  people  can  with  pleasure  hear 
Is  some  loud  coon  st)ng.  odious  to  the  ear. 
The  jests  of  idiots,  the  resounding  crack 
As  board  strikes  fool  on  cranium  or  back, 
Or  noise,  like  carpets  beaten,  as  gloves  smite 
On  pillowy  gloves  in  sham  hut  furiims  light. 
The  play  that  pleases  is  the  jiku  that  shows 
Xot  life  and  character  Init  silks  and  hose. 
The  dry-goods  merchant,  not  the  playwright,  now 
Draws  the  huge  check  and  wears  the  laurelled  brow, 
Write,  if  you  can.  three  acts  without  a  trace 
( )f  nature,  wit,  morality,  or  grace, 
h'rom  which  no  character  could  be  cut  out 
Without  improving  all  beyond  a  doubt. 
And  houses  packed  with  'ladies  and  with,  gents 
Will  make  Modjcska  look-  like  thirty  cents.' 

"The  Sabbath,  sacred  to  our  strong-souled  sires 
Xo  more  high  aim  or  holy  thought  inspires. 
It  only  means,  to  those  who  huddle  here. 
A  vacant  space  to  sleep  or  guzzle  beer. 
Where  is  the  spirit  fled  that  made  this  land 
Strong  and  sufficient,  envied,  proud,  and  grand? 
Where  is  the  virtue  fled  that  won  the  West? 
Where  the  great  heart  that  beat  in  Lincoln's  breast  ? 
Our  sires,  inferior  to  their  fathers,  liore 
In  us  a  race  that  is  corrupted  more. 
And  we  shall  shortly  boast  posterity 
Less  active,  brave,  and  virtuous  than  we. 
They  say  more  Germans  dwell  amid  this  din 
Than  any  city  boasts  except  Berlin  ; 
And  that  Chicago  has  more  Scots  than  Ayr, 
More  French  than  Nantes,  more  Irish  than  Kildare, 
I  only  know  that  in  these  confines  dw'ell 
More  sinners  than  in  any  place  but  hell. 

"Sometimes  I  almost  long  for  monarchy. 
He  knows  not  who  believes  that  we  are  free. 
The  cross-legged  Turk  one  tyrant  has,  no  more ; 
We  have  a  hundred,  nay,  a  hundred  score. 
If  I  must  bow,  I'd  rather  bow  to  kings 
Than  thieves,  barkeepers,  gamblers,  and  such  things 
However  hungrily  he  grasp  and  rive 
One  cannot  steal  as  much  as  tw^enty-five. 


11  — 


I  am  a  Yankee.     My  forefathers  bled 
At  Bunker  Hill  and  I  was  born  and  bred 
Complete  American,  both  man  and  boy, 
Here  in  the  genial  lap  of  Illinois. 
I  can't  forget  my  race.     I  will  not  bow 
To  Jew  or  Celt,  to  Dutch  or  Dago  now. 

"Even  language  crumbles  in  this  atmosphere. 
But  yesterday  it  was  my  lot  to  hear 
A  Latin  teacher  to  a  pupil  cry : 
'John,  either  give  that  book  to  Jane  or  I !' 
A  preacher  Sunday  seared  my  heart  with  this: 
'Each  one  in  Heaven  will  find  their  proper  bliss.' 
Patois  and  slang  usurp  the  rights  of  speech ; 
An  act's  a  'stunt,'  a  beauty  is  a  'peach ;' 
No  word  of  sense  is  read,  unless  it  come 
In  the  cheap  metaphor  of  sport  or  slum. 
Our  schools  are  upside  down.     They're  doitbly  curst. 
College  and  kindergarten  are  reversed. 
The  child  of  six  'takes  sociology ;' 
At  twenty,  in  the  university. 
The  freshman  finds,  and  his  disgust  is  great, 
That  he  must  learn  to  spell  and  punctuate. 

"We  scorn  the  classics,  but  we  still  adore 
Half  of  the  deities  we  deem  a  bore. 
Athene  grows  a  myth,  and  Dian  strays 
No  more  amid  the  forest's  murmurous  wavs ; 
Zeus  is  forgot ;  Apollo  pipes  no  more ; 
No  longer  Neptune  shakes  the  sounding  shore ; 
But  Plutus  has  his  votaries  as  of  old ; 
The  charms  of  Venus  still  fire  and  enfold ; 
Bacchus  is  still  the  living  god  of  wine ; 
And  Mercury's  powers  are  still  esteemed  divine. 
These  are  thy  gods,  Chicago;  tithe  and  vow, 
With  no  feigned  zeal,  are  paid  them  here  and  now. 


"Religion  even  is  no  longer  free 
In  these  confines  from  thrifty  quackery. 
Huge  Grecian  temples  rise,  to  mark  the  way 
The  prophets  hustle  and  the  people  pay. 
With  what  in  heaven  may  medicine  the  soul 
They  strive  on  earth  to  make  the  body  whole 
To  wretches,  maddened  with  long  grief  and  pain, 
When  torture  cleaves  the  heart  and  wrecks  the  brain. 
To  drones,  who  think  they  worship  the  Most  High, 
When  all  they  worship  is  tranquility. 
And  to  sweet  souls,  who,  stern  old  faith  being  dead. 
Still  love  the  corpse,  although  the  spirit's  fled, 
They  sell  for  gold  a  philosophic  brew 
Of  ancient  wisdom  mixed  with  follies  new. 
Hashed  strangely  there  are  mangled  Hebrew  bard, 


'-^^^^^^11^'^^'^m^s^^^^^ 


^«^  '^Or^^#^^-S^i 


SR'^^i^l^t- - 


"HEUK,   TOO,   AS  THERE,    IN   MAMMON'S  (UI.T   HUll.T   HIGH, 
UNLOVELY  TOWERS,   ASPIRING,  TOUCH  THE  SKY." 


—  13  — 

Spinoza  chopped,  the  stoic  Zenu  marred, 

Plato's  supernal  poetry  awry, 

And  Bishop  Berkeley  minus  mouth  and  eye. 

There  is  no  matter  and  therefore  no  pain: 

This  is  their  maxim ;  this  their  whole  refrain. 

Cut  oft'  their  legs ;  perhaps  they  still  can  walk  ; 

Cut  out  their  tongues,  I  wonder  will  they  talk  ; 

At  least  on  paper  they  will  yet  declare. 

While  they  can  breathe,  there's  no  such  thing  as  air. 

Their  children  writhe  and  scream  in  agony. 

But  still  they  push  kind  anaesthetics  by ; 

Ask  them  to  give  for  gracious  charity, 

Thev  say  there's  no  such  thing  as  poverty. 

In  one  real  thing,  however,  they  believe : 

Pay  them  with  air,  if  you  would  see  them  grieve. 

The  touch  of  gold  makes  all  their  theories  thaw  ; 

Refuse  to  pay,  and  lo !  they  rush  to  law. 

Nor  do  the  numbers  of  the  sect  grow  less, 

Though  often,  mad  with  unrelieved  distress, 

With  knives  that  have  no  entity  they  slay 

What  they  consider  non-existent  clay. 

Or  with  imaginar}'  guns  blow  out 

Brains  that  are  non-existent,  past  a  doubt. 

'Tn  the  old  da}-s,  when  Babylon  grew  proud, 
And  noisome  orgy  in  her  halls  was  loud. 
Almighty  God  hurled  down  her  crescent  towers, 
Confused  her  speech,  and  overthrew  her  powers. 
Here,  in  despite  of  His  divine  command, 
The  gabble  and  the  cant  of  every  land. 
Though  cloven  once  by  Heaven's  revengeful  steel, 
Are  reunited  in  a  hideous  peal. 
Here,  too,  as  there,  in  Mammon's  cult  built  high. 
Unlovely  towers,  aspiring,  touch  the  sky. 
Piled  by  the  hands  of  those  who  never  soar 
In  thought  above  the  twenty-seventh  floor, 
And  climbed  by  sinners  glad  to  be  as  near 
As  this  for  once  to  some  celestial  sphere. 
Seared,  but  not  purified,  by  searching  flame, 
Dozvn,  DOWN,  Chicago  sinks  in  filth  and  shame, 
Unmourned,  unsung,  unspeakable,  unblest ; 
The  tottering  Babylon  of  the  crime-stained  West. 

'"For  these,  and  some  twelve  thousand  reasons  more, 
My  days  in  this  disgusting  hive  are  o'er." 

So  Jack.     I,  moved,  amused,  and  edified, 
But  disagreeing,  with  some  wrath  replied : 

"Whom  have  you  been  about,  what  have  you  read, 
To  put  these  pessimistic  notions  in  your  head? 


—  14  — 

If  we  were  not  scluuil  friciui>.  IM  .s\war  muiM  dwelt 

^^'here  soap's  corrupting  fdani  is  novor  smelt, 

Or  else  hail  slnmbered.  all  y^uv  i)rc\i()ns  (la\s, 

In  super-arrogant  scholastic  lia/c. 

The  actual  niarmw  of  the  thing  you've  missed: 

You're  half  a  pedant,  halt'  an  anarchist. 

"\'ou  deem  the  faults  of  \outh  the  sins  of  age. 
Unjust  your  censure,  farcical  your  rage. 
This  hov  is  growing  at  so  fast  a  pace 
He  has  no  time  as  yet  to  wash  his  face. 
But  though  there's  smut  upon  his  forehead  now, 
You  talk — I  have  no  words  to  tell  you  how. 
Among  the  cities  of  this  world  of  ours 
He  is  the  tall  young  man.      His  new-l)lown  jjowers 
Are  not  the  Amazon's,  hut  the  true  might 
Of  a  fierce  youth  whose  face  is  lilack  with  fight. 
And  those  who  draw  Chicago  as  a  maid, 
Albeit  her  face  is  fair  and  unafraid, 
Albeit  1  7C/7/  is  written  on  her  scroll. 
Are  far  from  guessing  what  is  in  that  soul. 
Therefore  I  love  him  as  I  love  a  boy 
Whose  golden  ore  is  hardened  with  alloy, 
The  genial  ways,  the  manners  free,  the  slip 
And  the  repentance  and  the  fellowship. 
I  love  him,  for  I  know  him,  waxing  strong. 
In  days  to  be  the  poet's  cordialest  song 
Shall  rise,  a  gleaming  fountain,  and  disperse 
This  dust  of  censure  with  a  dew  of  verse 
That  shall  display  him,  lovely,  and  upraise 
In  his  behalf  a  thousand  buds  of  praise. 
Sweet,  gracious,  mighty,  splendid,  brush  and  brass, 
As  the  long  lines  of  secular  glories  pass. 
Shall  teach  the  world  that  cavils  and  is  blind 
To  know  how  keen  his  eye,  his  heart  how  kind. 

"I  grant  you  that  in  this  rude  clime  we  miss 
The  wealth  of  August  and  the  Playtime's  bliss ; 
But  genial  Nature  makes  amends  for  all, 
When  ripened  summer  mellows  into  fall. 
Our  mild  September's  aromatic  haze, 
October's  leaves,.  November's  quickening  days. 
Where  can  you  match  them,  madman  ?     \Vhen  they  wreathe 
Their  golden  hours,  'tis  joy  enough  to  breathe. 
In  August  seek  the  rocks  of  Mackinac ; 
When  3klarch  makes  all  the  cheerless  heavens  black. 
Flee  Tampa-ward  ;  but  in  the  golden  time 
Of  Indian  summer,  this.  Jack,  is  the  clime. 
The  melancholy  days  of  Bryant's  song 
Come  seldom  here,  nor  do  they  tarry  long. 
The  stern  northeasters,  which  you  so  despise. 


15 


And  even  this  filth,  are  hlessint^s  in  disguise. 
The  former  drive  the  weak  forth  in  dismay ; 
The  latter  keeps  the  gilded  drone  away ; 
Hence  our  proud  energy,  our  manners  free. 
Our  ways  of  kindly  hospitality. 
This  is  no  place,  my  boy,  to  whine  or  shirk ; 
This  soil  is  sacred  to  the  god  of  work. 
The  deep  low  song  the  laboring  city  sings 
Is  full  of  discords  to  the  ears  of  kings. 
I  love  the  people's  insolence  and  pride ; 
Long  be  the  rich  by  their  stern  hate  defied. 


Free  men  are  more  than  pavements  swept  and  clear 
And  hearts  unwrung  than  spires  built  high  in  fear. 

"Two-thirds  of  all  you've  said  is  due  to  spleen, 
And  just  as  true  of  T'ioston  or  Racine. 
There's  no  more  pressure  here  of  want  or  sin. 
To  the  square  inch,  than  in  Duluth  or  Lynn. 
The  difference,  which  you'll  concede  is  clear, 
Is  simply  that  there  are  more  inches  here. 
Faults  should  be  weighed  proportionate  to  grace ; 
Goliath's  boils  would  cover  David's  face. 
The  evil's  mighty,  but  the  good  is,  too ; 
Judge  by  what's  done  and  not  by  what's  to  do. 
More  toilsome  sweat  each  precious  month  flows  here 
Than  Cincinnati  sufl^ers  in  a  year ; 
Each  year  more  bricks  go  up  and  asphalt  down 
Than  decades  compass  in  St.  Louis  town. 
We  turn  the  river  backward  to  its  springs : 
Our  trains  fly  where  naught  flew  of  old  but  wings. 
For  every  shack  that  stands  in  Bufi^alo, 
Chicago  can  a  stately  mansion  show ; 
For  every  mile  Detroit  boasts  of  street 
We  have  a  mile  of  boulevard  complete. 
Paris,  remember,  boasts  two  thousand  years ; 
We  fifty ;  yet  we  rank  among  her  peers. 
Ere  fifty  more  shall  w^ax  and  disappear 
A  nobler  Paris  shall  shine  farther  here. 
You're  simple,  Jack,  if  you  expect  to  see 
The  polished  wit  and  wise  urbanity 
In  this  raw  youth  which  forty  does  not  give 
To  one  in  thousands  of  the  men  that  li\e. 


-    16  — 

■■  riu'v  oall  this  niixUn\'  Ikti'  hI'  joy  and  woe 
A  black  and  soothing  chaKh\)n  ;  ho  il  so: 
When  chaldrons  seethe  they  do  not  seethe  for  ill ; 
Pestilence  rises  from  the  pool  that's  still. 
And  this  conimixtiire  of  the  false  and  true, 
Of  East  and  West,  of  ancient  and  of  now, 
I-Io\ve"er  it  leap  and  bubble,  fret  and  stink, 
Howe'er  you  babble  and  whate'er  you  think. 
Some  not  far  day  will  cool  and  clear,  and  then, 
liy  all  the  wonder-stricken  eyes  of  nun. 
There  will  be  seen  a  strong  new  race  arise. 
Fire  in  their  hearts  antl  morning  in  their  eyes. 
You  love  to  wander  through  the  central  roar 
Of  homogeneous  London  and  deplore 
The  mixture  of  the  scum  of  many  a  race 
That  eddies  here  but  yonder  has  no  place. 
Remember  that  there  liows  in  English  veins 
The  blood  of  Romans,  Saxons,  Celts,  Norse,  Dane:^ 
And  that  these  grew  one  race  in  sheer  despite 
Of  all  that  hate  availed  to  disunite. 
Thence,  in  just  pride  of  pow-er  and  sense  of  worth. 
Uprose  the  haughtiest  people  of  the  earth. 
But  not  so  haughty  as  the  stock  to  be, 
\\'hen  time  and  peace,  beside  the  inland  sea. 
Shall  bind  all  men,  that  gaze  upon  the  sun. 
In  chains  of  brotherhood,  and  make  them  one. 
In  their  clear  eyes,  where  kindly  humours  melt. 
The  honor,  wit,  and  courage  of  the  Celt ; 
In  their  strong  hearts  the  Saxon's  patient  power ; 
In  their  hard  heads  the  Scotchman's  golden  dower 
Of  thrift  and  prudence;  in  their  dauntless  souls 
The  hate  of  tyranny  that  fills  the  Poles ; 
Sw^eden's  industrious  zeal ;  French  eloquence  ; 
The  Spaniard's  chivalry ;  the  German's  sense ; 
The  Hebrew's  love  for  ancient  precious  things ; 
Italian  ardour  for  wdiatever  flings 
The  mantle  of  rich  colour  and  the  grace 
Of  glorious  outline  over  Nature's  face: — 
But  still  one  race,  proud,  gentle,  brave,  and  new  ; 
Not  Scotch  or  Irish,  German,  Slav,  or  Jew  ; 
Not  Saxon  more  than  English  now  is  Dane ; 
The  race  that  wnth  a  finger  humbled  Spain  ; 
The  race  that  tliw^arts  the  tyrant's  haughtiest  plan  ; 
What  word  befits  it  but  "American  ?" 
In  future  years  its  splendour  shall  not  fail : 
Our  sons'  achievements  shall  our  fathers'  pale. 

"Sometimes  I'm  tempted,  as  I  dream,  to  dub 
This  town  a  vast  unlovely  giant  grub. 
It  is  a  chrysalis ;  dull-eyed  it  creeps ; 
Earthy  its  ways  ;  its  better  nature  sleeps  : 


—  17  — 

But  soon,  upon  the  cheered  and  quickened  eye, 

Shall  burst  the  glories  of  the  butterfly. 

Nay,  even  now  the  slough  begins  to  break : 

Each  day  new  beauties  gleam,  fresh  colours  wake. 

Wood,  avenue,  lawn,  temple,  statue,  glow ; 

A  hundred  stately  fountains  foam  and  flow ; 

Pictures  there  are  to  cheer  the  humblest  sight, 

And  books  to  aid  the  mind's  supremest  flight ; 

A  thousand  gems  of  architecture  shine ; 

The  lodge  of  learning  and  the  sacred  shrine, — 

Where  wise  and  willing  hands  and  tender  heart 

Forgive  the  sin  and  subjugate  the  smart, — 

Comfort  the  body  and  refresh  the  soul ; 

And  wondrous  music,  with  its  thunderous  roll 

And  tender  fantasies  learned  in  joy  and  woe. 

Awakes  the  heart  and  makes  the  spirit  grow. 


"Once,  in  the  western  land  of  cloudless  skies 

Far-stretching  sands,  and  golden  mysteries, 

I  rode  beside  a  coal-stained  engineer 

Down  shining  rails  that  seemed  to  disappear 

Between  red  walls  of  painted  cliff  and  leap 

Into  unmeasured  depths  of  night  and  sleep. 

The  quivering  decapod  delayed  and  blew 

And  grieved,  till  wonder  seized  my  soul  and  grew 

And  vext,  and  I  this  weak  enquiry  made : 

'Why  does  she  pufi"  so  on  the  downward  grade?' 

The  "man  of  oil  and  overalls  laughed  high 

And  laughed  again,  till  tears  bedimmed  his  eye. 

At  last,  his  bulk  still  touched  with  tremors  gay, 

Words,  interwove  with  snorts,  found  out  their  way : 

'When  this  old  girl  of  mine  begins  to  fret, 

She  ain't  agoin'  down  hill,  you  kin  bet.' 

So  here.     We're  on  the  grade  of  gain  and  hope. 

We're  on  the  rising,  not  the  falling  slope. 


...   IS  - 

"Do  you  recall  that  sweet  IxuKiuel  nl  verse 
I  made  last  year  on  tlie  half-liquid  curse 
Men  used  to  call  Chicago  River?     No? 
This  is  the  way  its  odorous  numbers  Mow  : 
'The  sewer  to  the  oozy  river  creeps. 
Which,  like  a  venomous  serpi^nt.  rots  and  sleeps, 
.\nd.  big"  with  poison,  winds  its  horrid  coils 
Where  man  in  millions  congregates  and  toils. 
I'ntil,  o'ergorged,  it  belches  in  the  lake 
A  filth  to  make  a  grampus  heave  and  ([uake. 
This  dire  (juintessence  of  decadent  stink 
The  people  in  their  need  or  folly  drink. 
Fierce  microbes  thence  smite  artery  and  vein. 
Corrupt  the  heart,  antl  honeycomb  the  brain." 
Pretty,  niclit  Zy'aJir?     The  verses  liked  me  well. 
.\nd  there  were  offers  if  I  wished  to  sell ; 
r>ut  ere  the  printers  had  the  grace  to  pay 
The  curst  canal  took  all  their  point  away. 
Xo  nostril  now  those  emerald  ripples  wrong ; 
The  town  is  saved,  but  ruined  is  my  song. 
I  grieved  but  learned  a  lesson  that  I  prize : 
This  tale  is  typical ;  it  purged  mine  eyes. 
To  answer  hard  words  with  a  mighty  deed  — 
This  is  the  essence  of  Chicago's  creed. 
In  '59  he  issued  from  the  mire  ; 
In  '7 1  he  stood  the  test  by  fire ; 
And,  proudly  happy,  took  his  third  degree, 
Amid  the  world's  applause,  in  '93. 
An  evil  rears  its  head  ;  today's  endured  ; 
Tomorrow  hated ;  and  the  third  day  cured. 
Mighty  indeed  must  be  that  satire's  pace 
Which  can  Chicago's  mighty  strides  outrace. 

"Ten  thousand  poems,  execrably  bad. 

Were  made  and  sung  before  the  Iliad : 

Ten  thousand  temples,  hideous  and  bald. 

Repelled  before  the  Parthenon  enthralled  : 

Ten  thousand  foolish  fads  abroad  are  blown 

Before  one  solid  truth  is  caught  and  known. 

Time,  with  sure  aim,  strikes  down  unworthy  things ; 

On  folly's  ruins  blossomed  wisdom  springs. 

Before  one  eye  see  where  our  true  worth  lies. 

Ten  thousand  Stubbs  and  Kiplings  must  arise. 

Their  blame  in  fifty  years  will  mean  no  more 

Than  ocean's  blundering  on  a  granite  shore ; 

Even  W'hile  they  scold,  their  facts  take  wings  and  fly ; 

W'hat  yesterday  was  true,  today's  a  lie. 

Take  heart.     Have  faith.     Our  blood  is  red  and  strong 

The  spring  is  early  and  the  year  is  long. 

I  see  a  May-tide  rich  in  gentle  hearts ; 

A  June  made  glad  by  sweet  unselfish  arts ; 

A  month  of  Julius  bright  with  bird  and  bee 

And  honey-sweet  with  dear  tranquility ; 


—  19  — 

An  August  blest  with  herds  and  yellowing-  corn, 

Hands  quick  to  aid  and  hearts  exempt  of  scorn ; 

A  noble  city,  as  the  days  increase, 

Flash  like  a  gem  upon  the  brow  of  Peace ; 

And  when  the  year  shall  whiten  to  its  rest, 

A  happy  people  gazing  on  the  West. 

A  kindly  power  prevails ;  the  god  of  morn. 

Free  from  a  touch  of  horror  or  of  scorn, 

On  park  and  slum,  on  ditch  and  lake  and  lea, 

On  tramp  and  king,  with  sweet  amenity. 

His  golden  shafts  and  glittering  diamonds  flings ; 

From  blackest  soils  the  tallest  corn  upsprings." 

By  this  the  day  was  done,  the  sky  was  black, 
The  train  men  shouted,  and  "Farewell"  said  Jack. 
I  wrung  his  hand,  and,  while  the  engine  bell 
Began  to  swing,  cried,  with  full  heart,  "Farewell." 
The  strong-souled  kindly  monster  heaved  and  blew. 
And,  slowly  first  and  very  gently,  drew 
Jack  and  his  wounded  heart,  in  hastening  flight, 
Out  to  the  earthy  fragrance  of  the  night. 


i 


f  ■I  <lii: 


'^^ 


:w^^m^m^x^  'f^'4? 


